


Making Time

by lesshoney



Category: Quantum Break (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Trans Character, trans Paul Serene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 03:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6735646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesshoney/pseuds/lesshoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul Serene is a busy man. Jack Joyce has needs. </p><p>Taking a break from the shower of angst to write some self-indulgent fluff. AU where the time egg never gets fucked. Paul goes to business school and launches himself into the economic stratosphere, Jack stays firmly on the ground. Tumblr started talking wedding headcanons, and, just think about the logistics of marrying Paul "Fortune 500" Serene.</p><p>But, mostly. Sex.</p><p>I want to thank  <a href="http://cmdonovann.tumblr.com/">@cmdonovann</a> for beta'ing and conversation, which brought about the best parts of this. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Time

Jack shut his apartment door on the smarmy guy in the expensive suit. He pulled out his phone and hit Paul’s contact. The phone rang. It rang some more.

Finally, Paul picked up.

The voice on the other end sounded very far away. “Jack. Hey. How’s it going?”

Jack wandered to his window. The view from the fourth floor of a walk-up was nothing like the view from Paul’s penthouse. Half of the window was taken up with an air conditioner jammed on the sill. It was leaking down the wall. A cat was in a window across the alley.

“One of your lawyers was just here, man. I signed something. I’m not sure if it was a pre-nup or if I just sold all my organs.”

“I hope you saved something for me,” Paul said, with a smile in his voice.

“Sure. My middle finger.” Jack tapped on the glass. The neighbor’s cat gave him a very bored look. “What is all this? I just want to marry you, not buy Buckingham Palace.”

“I’m worth a lot more than that,” Paul pointed out.

“Yeah, like I can forget.”

“You should have a lawyer too, Jack. You shouldn’t sign something you don’t understand.”

“Sure,” Jack said. “In case you decide to screw me out of my Yamaha and those Beanie Babies I stashed in the attic.”

“You never know. They might make a come-back,” Paul said.

Jack sighed. “God. I just…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll call off the dogs. I told them I didn’t want -”

“They’re not working for you, Paul. They’re working for your money.”

Paul laughed. “Out of the mouths of babes. You’re not wrong. Still. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Are we doing dinner tonight?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, absolutely,” Paul said. He paused. “Yeah, I think that’ll work.”

Jack’s brow furrowed. “Paul, I hate to play this card, but - you promised.”

“I know. I know. I’ll try to make it work, okay? I’ll be back from Toronto by four.”

“You’re in Toronto?”

“Just for a meeting.”

“Okay,” Jack said.

Silence.

Paul broke it first. “Look… I know we haven’t seen a lot of each other the last couple of weeks -”

“Months,” Jack said flatly.

“We’ll have an evening soon. Just the two of us. We’ll do something special,” Paul promised. He was always promising.

“I see your lawyers more than I see you. Maybe I should marry one of them, instead,” Jack said. He winced. He didn’t mean it to come out quite like that.

Paul cleared his throat. “I don’t think this conversation is productive anymore, do you, Jack?”

 _That_ tone of voice. Paul inviting you to join him in a decision he’d already made. Jack fucking hated that tone. He wasn’t going to rise to the bait.

Paul read his hurt silence.

“Jack - I’m sorry. I’ve gotta go. I’ll call later.”

“Yeah.” Jack swallowed. He tried to end things on an up note: “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll see you soon, Jack,” Paul said. He disconnected.

* * *

Paul’s helicopter landed on the helipad at seven-thirty, a bit behind schedule with the unexpected stop at Parliament Hill. He took the route to his office through the roof access, past a couple of labs. When the sliding doors responded to his biometrics and slid open, he was faced with a very dark office. He paused.

The office was never truly dark; those multi story windows that looked over Riverport constantly let in the light. Something Jack always complained about, when he spent the night here. Couldn’t sleep with all the neon in his face.

_So close your eyes._

_Man, how can you live like this?_

Good question. He missed Jack every day. He wanted Jack with him. But Jack had his pride; he wasn’t going to be a kept man. He wasn’t going to let Paul hand him the world. Not even a slice of it. Jack had insisted on the pre-nup. He read that trash in the tabloids, the things they said about him on gossip blogs - blogs, for fuck’s sake - and he didn’t know what to do about it all, yet. He had his pride, and he was scared.

Maybe they could work it out together. But to do that, they had to talk, not argue. _Seeing him would be a good start._ Paul’s conscience was loud these days.

That whole train of thought ran through Paul’s head in a fraction of a second, as he stepped into his darkened office. His eyes were drawn to the stairs beside him. Candles. Delicate white tea lights, perched on every step, a stream of light ascending to the bedroom area up on the mezzanine. The corner of Paul’s mouth twitched.

He made his way carefully up the stairs. More candles were set on the dresser and along the railing. Paul’s eyes adjusted with help from the candles and the windows, and he saw that Jack - who else? - had been busy. The bed was turned down and the throw blanket was on it, and Paul’s skin prickled.

He heard the unmistakable pop and metallic ping of a beer bottle opening and turned that way.

“Hey, Moneybags,” Jack said. He came up onto the mezzanine from the stairs by the kitchen, a bottle of beer dangling from each hand, gleaming in the candlelight. He had a cocky grin in his voice. “You’re home.”

He came into the little circle of light around the bed. Jack was dressed in a t-shirt, his scuffed jeans, his Converse. Same old Jack. He could make the Pope feel over-dressed.

“I've been waiting for you,” Jack said.

Paul glanced at the bed, the dark blanket over the crisp white sheets, the dancing shadows. “This is nice, Jack,” Paul said, as enthusiastically as he could.

“One of your PAs - one of them - let me in. She felt sorry for me.”

Paul ignored the jab, if that’s what it was. “And you’ve been sitting here drinking and lighting fires in my office since?”

“I’ve had one beer,” Jack said. He raised the bottle and sloshed it to show it was still half-full.

“Do you have one for me?” Paul asked.

Jack came closer, pushed the cold bottle into Paul’s hand. He and Paul knocked the bottles together and Paul took a long drink. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and undid a few buttons on his shirt.

Jack stayed close. He watched Paul take another swallow, and then, like he had planned all along, he grabbed Paul’s wrist and pulled him toward the bed. He managed to get the beer out of Paul’s hand and maneuver them onto the mattress without any of it spilling.

Paul followed Jack. It was some kind of natural magnetism, it was who they were. Wherever Jack led, Paul’s body accommodated. He found himself on his back with Jack climbing on top of him before he had much time to think about it.

They paused here, with Jack straddling Paul at the waist with his jean-clad legs, Paul in his trim black shirt and grey dress pants.

“Welcome home,” Jack said.

Paul smiled. He was relieved that Jack wasn’t too pissed off. He had sounded pissed off.

Paul broke into a helpless grin as Jack bent down to kiss him. He met the pressure of Jack’s mouth, closed his eyes and sunk into it, and arched to keep contact as Jack entwined their fingers and stretched Paul’s arms over his head.

Click.

_Click._

Paul’s eyes opened wide. “Jack, you did not just -” He pulled his wrists. The leather-wrapped cuffs yanked against their thin chains and held fast.

“Jack -”

Jack climbed off of him, taking away the heat and weight of his body. Paul tried to sit up after him, but it was useless.

“This isn’t funny, Jack,” Paul said warningly.

“I know,” Jack said, going to the drawer to grab their stuff. “It’s hilarious.”

“I’m going to kill you.” Paul’s fingertips explored the cuffs and tested the hinges.

“I don’t think this conversation is _productive_ anymore,” Jack said. He unceremoniously peeled off his clothes and dropped them in a heap. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Paul was watching. Paul’s eyes didn’t leave him - some parts of him - until he was back at the bed.

Paul was only mortal. Jack, naked, with a two-day shadow, a semi, and shoulders made for linebacking - that shut Paul up as Jack stood over him. His heels twitched against the mattress.

Jack prowled back onto the bed and raised one eyebrow. Paul licked his lips and - Paul’s phone, in his jacket pocket, started ringing. It was like… the opposite of Pavlov’s bell, for Jack. Nothing ruined the mood faster than that damn sliding scale ringtone. Jack lost all the tension in his stomach, but he pretended not to notice and went for Paul’s mouth again.

Paul craned his head away. “That’s Martin. I have to answer that.”

“I don’t hear anything,” Jack said. That cocksure grin again. He kissed the corners of Paul’s mouth.

The phone kept ringing. It was like nails on a chalkboard. _Jesus, Martin, give up._

The ringtone stopped on one last, vicious high note and went silent. Jack smiled impishly, then gave Paul a kiss, right on his frown. He brushed Paul’s lips to try to coax a smile out of him, then hooked his fingertips into Paul’s waistband to pull his shirttails free. He brushed the dark shirt up Paul’s belly, running the edge of his nails along to tickle his skin. Paul’s stomach fluttered.

The fucking phone started up again. Jack swore to himself. It must be important. He leaned down to Paul. “If you really need to answer -” Jack breathed in the shell of his ear. The tip of his tongue followed and Paul hissed through his teeth.

Jack pulled back to look at him, raised his eyebrows. Well?

Paul spun through the possibilities. He said yes, he got up, he took his call. Jack stayed because he thought he had to. Then he got on his bike and he left. And it was another fight, even if neither of them raised their voices. It was another knock against this - them - ever really working. Or, he said...

“No.”

And just like that, the atmosphere was lighter. Like they had shed some of this godawful mean gravity and they could breath. Jack grinned. He ran his hand up Paul’s stretched arms, to his wrists. “These okay?”

Paul nodded.

“Let me know if they’re too tight.”

“They’re fine,” Paul said.

Jack gazed down at him, watching Paul’s eyelashes flicker. He ran the back of his knuckles down Paul’s cheek, and smiled when Paul turned his face to nuzzle his hand. Jack paused, and had to just drink in the sight of him for a moment. At thirty-five, Paul was already going grey at his temples, lines were starting at the corners of his eyes. It was a testament to how stressful Paul’s life was, the tension he carried.

And it made Jack want to… pick up his share, and start hauling. Jack tilted Paul’s chin up and kissed his lips. He slid his tongue into Paul’s mouth and then they lost track of time for a little while, just enjoying the taste and warmth and being close. Somewhere along the way, Martin finally took the hint and the phone stopped ringing.

Starting Paul’s motor took a patient hand - but Jack had practice. He gave Paul that first shock of the cuffs to get his attention, and now that Jack had it, it was time to work slow.

Jack went to work undressing Paul, carefully slipping the rest of his shirt buttons open, kissing and biting as he went. It had been a long day and Paul’s deodorant was giving out, the last of his cologne was a ghost at his collar. Jack got his first scent of Paul’s sweat as he pushed his shirt aside, and it made the pit of Jack’s stomach hot and tight. He ran the flat of his tongue over the curve of Paul’s ribs, then used his smooth hard teeth to frame first one nipple, then the other, and full sucking kisses down the channel of his abs. He left Paul with a trail of glowing pink marks from his collarbone to his navel and ducked down to sweep off his shoes and socks.

Jack followed the bite marks like stepping stones, starting at the top and working his way down again, and this time, he unbuttoned Paul’s pants and got his hands inside, tucked between Paul’s silky briefs and his hips. He helped Paul wriggle out of them and finally, Jack sat back and looked at his handiwork.

Paul’s eyes had gone dark, a little dazed. His legs were restless as he got hard, he was circling one ankle like a cat flicks its tail. His lips were red from the press of Jack’s mouth.

Jack grabbed the bottle from the floor. He drizzled some lube on his fingers and started on Paul’s stomach, tracing the rim of his belly button, dragging toward Paul’s left hip. He swirled the gel around one of Paul’s nipples and tweaked it with the pad of his thumb.

“Let’s talk,” Jack said.

Paul blinked hard. “Okay,” he managed, as Jack’s hand swept past his hip and settled just above his knee.

Jack stroked up his leg, dipped his hand to the more sensitive skin. He curled his fingers to stroke Paul’s inner thigh, thoughtfully.

“I know this is your life. I get it. I’m here for you.” Jack stopped moving his hand for a minute. “But it’s my life, too, and… I need you around. I need you to myself sometimes.”

Paul almost laughed. Jack, naked on his bed, lubed-up hand between his legs - but it wasn’t funny. He bit his lower lip to stop himself smiling.

 ** _Christ_** , Jack thought, just about surrendering right then and there. That lip-bite always made Paul look ten years younger; you’d never see _that_ on the cover of _GQ_ , or _Fortune_ , or _Forbes_. It drove Jack crazy.

Paul was searching Jack’s eyes. “I miss you. I’m always thinking about you.”

“I know. But that doesn’t fix it,” Jack said.

“I’ll come home every night.” Paul wasn’t sure what Jack wanted - he didn’t care. He’d promise everything and he’d actually follow through, he would, he would do anything just to be with Jack here, like this.

“You can’t promise that,” Jack said.

“I’ll try. I’ll call.”

“Call me more,” Jack agreed.

Paul swallowed. “I’ll turn off the phone when we’re together.”

“I don’t care if it’s important,” Jack said, with a shake of his head, with full steady strength in those frank, honest, blue eyes. He wasn’t unreasonable. Paul _was_ important. To Jack, and to a lot of other people.

And Paul had never felt so _understood_.

“I’ll do better,” Paul said. Paul actually had tears in his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Jack kissed his forehead. He recognized Paul reaching the end of his rope. “Okay, man. How you doing?”

“Let me up,” Paul said.

Jack unlocked the cuffs. Paul ripped his shirt off his shoulders, then held out his arms. Jack crawled on top of him, and suddenly they were like two stupid kids on prom night, naked, brains checked out, nothing mattered but touching every inch of bare skin they could reach. Jack pumped more lube in his hand, cupped Paul and kept his hand moving, circles, using the ridge of his knuckles, working his fingers, until Paul was slick and trembling.

Jack wanted to make this good for him. He kept his pace steady. Reliable, unrelenting, letting Paul’s body lean on his rhythm. Paul latched his wiry arms around Jack’s back, buried his face against Jack’s shoulder, and started to shake. He whimpered like it hurt.

With anyone else, Jack would back off - but that sound was Paul climbing higher, it was Paul winding tight.

“Yeah, like that,” Jack purred. Paul clenched against Jack’s hand, and Jack smiled inwardly. He knew what Paul liked.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that?” Jack whispered.

Paul came in a twitching, gasping, shaking explosion, more of a shattering than a triumphant _yes-yes-yes_. Surrender, to Jack’s hands, the tension he carried around with him. He came in one wave, another, a third, quick rushes between them, in Jack’s hand, safe in his arms. Jack held onto him and slowed his strokes, bringing him down gently, as Paul’s hot breath swept across his shoulder.

Jack shifted gears. He kissed Paul’s neck as he landed, held him close. Paul sniffed, wiped at his eyes quickly. Always. Jack gave him a comforting squeeze and sat up to get the tissues.

Paul followed him, pressed himself against Jack’s back. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Jack twisted his neck, kissed Paul over his shoulder. Paul climbed off the bed, gave Jack a smile, and...

That was something you wouldn’t see on magazine covers, either: Paul Serene on his knees, Jack’s fingers clamped in that $400 haircut.

* * *

Jack woke up with his head on Paul’s chest. He cracked an eye open. The massive windows showed the blocky, night-shadowed skyline of Riverport, backed by the first rose and gold glow of the rising sun. He felt the hum and vibration of Paul talking, before he heard him.

Paul had his spare phone, the one that was always in the nightstand. Jack had forgotten all about it. Paul was speaking softly into it, with his arm still around Jack’s waist.

“Cancel it,” Paul said. “I know. He’ll have to wait. Yeah, that too. If Cherryh calls - no, tell him to call back tomorrow. I’m taking the rest of the day.” A pause. “I’m fine. Send up breakfast, about half an hour. For two.”

Jack smiled against Paul’s chest. He hand scrolled up Paul’s thigh.

Paul inhaled. “About an _hour_ ,” he said into the phone. And he dropped it.


End file.
